


Domestication

by cdra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [23]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hand Jobs, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Massage, soft hours with young feral sieg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 20:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/cdra
Summary: Siegfried wonders what it is that makes him so willing to bend to Josef's whims—it's not the kindness in his suggestions alone, for certain, but then, what is it?[Kinktober Entry 25 - Brat Taming / Water Themes]





	Domestication

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the last fic I'll finish in the kinktober timeframe, but worry not! I got lots of nonsense up my sleeve for after this to work on at a... slower pace. Life caught me by the ankles these last two weeks, but that's how life be.
> 
> Anyway, I promised some people this would get written because I also really wanted to write it. I'll pilot my rarepair ghostships into the depths of madness by myself I GUESS, because shipping popular characters with dead npcs from their events is absolutely not the act of a sane man.
> 
> or, if you prefer, another act in "gee mister siegfried why does cdra write you with like 8 boyfriends"

What is it that urges a lawless man to obey? What makes a wild beast roll over and show its belly for another; what compels a monster, fanged and clawed and deadly, to lay its head at the feet of a man?

If you had asked Siegfried mere months ago, he would have flatly answered with “strength”—after all, it is the law of nature that the weak submit to the strong. Now, as he finds himself sitting stark-still, disrobed but unbound under the calm, knowing gaze of King Josef, he wonders if that’s truly the case. Were this a contest of bodily strengths, Siegfried’s larger physique and battle-trained muscles would make it beyond one-sided—but, to say that this is a _contest _at all would be wrong from the start. As to what it _is_, however... Siegfried doubts his eloquence, when it comes to describing it.

“I would ask you to relax,” the king says, a hint of good humor in his level tone as he steps into the bath chamber, “but I doubt my asking alone would make such a thing possible, for you.”

Siegfried looks away; as Josef says, he is wound tight, a tangled bundle of nerves and well-honed guards. His nails scrape against the bottom of the marble basin, beneath its heated waters, and he finds he’s still not used to the sensation of his nails being clean-cut—he wishes he were wearing gloves to take the edge off the weirdness, but as it stands, he’s not wearing anything but the water up to his waist. The royal bathing chamber is daunting, unlike anything Siegfried has ever seen before, unbearably smooth and clean as it yawns prettily around the lone pair of men. A long exhale tries to release some of the tension in his chest, but the terse frown on Siegfried’s lips speaks volumes.

“Isn’t this kinda below you?” The knight (in name alone) grumbles and hunches forward slightly; he casts a wary glance at Josef. “You’re the king. Y’ shouldn’t be dirtying your hands with the likes of me, right?”

“Your speech is getting coarse again,” Josef states as he steps to the edge of the basin; Siegfried looks down, but he can still feel Josef’s eyes inspecting the wounds that decorate his torso. Minor marks from his earlier tasks—they’re nothing special, as far as Siegfried’s concerned, not even deep enough to become part of his extensive collection of scars.

“Sorry,” he manages with a little less gravel. He can hear the smile in the breath Josef releases, both gentle and firm.

Josef’s fingers settle on his shoulder, light but confident. “Besides, it’s up to me how I chose to dirty my hands, don’t you think?” Those are the words of the strong, too—Siegfried scoffs and rolls his other shoulder, casually denying the superiority in them.

“As I said, I’d simply like to reward you for your progress—though I won’t pretend that I’m not being a bit self-indulgent.” There’s a shift in the water behind him as Josef seats himself on the edge of the tub, his feet submerged; Siegfried senses and comprehends the motions without bothering to look back. “Close your eyes, Siegfried,” he offers not as an order, but a suggestion—Siegfried only follows it because it impedes him none to do so.

As a pitcher’s worth of water pours over his head, Siegfried growls and curls into himself a little tighter, pulling his knees to his chest—it’s not that he minds being wet, but it’s another matter to sit still when faced with a downpour, even when it’s pleasantly heated and faintly aromatic with herbs Siegfried knows to be safe and calming. Of all the things, Josef laughs lightly at him; “Come now, it can’t be _so _bad,” he presumes, and Siegfried scowls to himself.

“It’s not,” he grumbles, loosening his shoulders as Josef presses his palm along the tight muscle there. “It’s just weird, for me.”

“It will become less strange as you let yourself stop resisting the normalcy of it.” Josef’s hands, warm with oil, trace along the lines of his shoulderblades with steady pressure; with a weighted sigh, Siegfried lets himself sink into the touch just a little. “When was the last time someone put their hands on you, not meaning to harm you?” Josef asks as he takes his hands back; there’s a sound of a bottle being uncorked.

Siegfried has to think for a moment to recall if such a thing has ever come to pass. “I don’t remember,” he ends up saying, because it’s true enough and he doesn’t want to dig too deep for any possible memories of it.

Josef hums to himself as he tangles his hands in Siegfried’s hair, the brown strands no longer half as long or matted as they were when Josef found him, but still tickling at his shoulders when wet. His fingertips work steady circles into Siegfried’s scalp, and he fights with the urge to squirm at the oddly-tender sensation. “For a beast, such a thing could only be expected—but, you are a man yet, Siegfried.”

He says it so, _so _easily—like Siegfried doesn’t know more about monsters than people, like he isn’t better suited to killing than conversing. There’s no point in arguing with Josef, though; “so you say,” is his only complaint, if it’s even that. Siegfried leans his head back and eases into the sensation of his hair being washed—for some reason, as pleasant as it is, it makes something under his skin skitter and itch.

Josef indulges in the silence, too, as he massages along the base of Siegfried’s skull and hovers over his face watchfully. Siegfried meets his eyes for a moment, dark and peaceful, before letting his own fall shut. Soap-lathered hands work their way down along his neck; one cradles his head and the other finds a hot cloth with which to scrub at his back. Almost obediently, Siegfried leans forward so that Josef can more easily access his shoulderblades and his spine; without missing a beat, Josef makes good on the invitation and rubs the fragrant, soapy cloth methodically along Siegfried’s scar-riddled back. At Siegfried’s ribs he meets a fresher wound and lightens the pressure significantly to clean around it, careful but not apologetic. This is the nature of Josef’s kindness, best as Siegfried has thus observed: genuine and shameless, domineering yet undemanding, eccentric in its applications and never without careful analysis of where it will lead.

The way Josef slides into the water, on his knees behind Siegfried, feels natural enough that Siegfried doesn’t flinch this time. He’s still tense, wound up in his own meandering thoughts, and Josef notices it but permits it in the soft hum he gives. Josef’s hands are deft as they find their way around Siegfried’s waist and down to the small of his back, rubbing firm circles that whittle away at the sort of invisible grime that can only build up from years of wild solitude. Siegfried’s skin is thick from his past, but that only makes the way it warms and flickers with subtle electricity under Josef’s hands seem that much more obvious. On the other hand, the soap in his hair is starting to run down his face a little, and it’s distantly annoying.

Absently, he lets out a low sigh from his nose; Josef notices it and pauses, attentive. “Close your eyes again,” he asks to the telltale sloshing of water; Siegfried obeys as much as water pours over his head once more, then another time. The second time he shakes his head on instinct, and it makes Josef chuckle. He runs his fingers over Siegfried’s scalp and through his hair, shaking water loose and breaking apart tangles with gentle precision. “It seems to me as though you’re enjoying this, at least somewhat,” Josef observes without bias, “despite the way you’re still scowling.”

“Am I?” Siegfried asks, and the tension in his cheeks loosens to release the scowl he hadn’t been aware of. “Maybe. I may as well, when you’re going to have your way regardless.”

“But if you took issue, you would have no qualms putting an end to this, would you?” Josef sees straight through him; he puts the scrubbing cloth aside and pours aromatic oil onto his palms. “Mind, I am not implying that you would resort to violence first, but you are _hardly _the type of man to keep your feelings to yourself.”

Siegfried gives a dry chuckle, at that. “I guess,” he mutters coarsely, but there’s a hint of a grin on his lips. Josef’s hands return to his shoulders and make their way down along his spine, working the warm oil into his thick, half-numb skin. When Josef hits a certain point it buzzes through his flesh and Siegfried exhales a rumbling sound; his nails dig at his thighs, and he realizes that the warmth has infiltrated deep into his skin and left his senses more alert than they ought to be.

Determining that the heat pooling between his legs is likely indecent, Siegfried shifts a little and pulls his knees upward again to hide it. But then Josef’s hands spread wide and push artfully along the underside of his shoulderblades and Siegfried’s breath catches into a low groan; he huffs through his nose in some effort to minimize it, but Josef merely hums thoughtfully.

“It seems to be getting through to you,” the king ponders in his steady way. Siegfried grunts and casts a glance to the side, fixing his gaze on some of the patterns in the marble for no real reason. Those steady hands follow the lines of his muscles down to his hips, and the lack of padding between skin and bone there finds Siegfried sensitive. The slight way he shivers under the touch is something new; Siegfried exhales slowly, wrapping his mind around it.

Josef peers over his shoulder, knowing and unbothered; to him, this is yet another matter to take in stride. It’s Josef’s strength, one that doesn’t dwell in his body but in his spirit and his mind, his steady wisdom and will—so perhaps there’s nothing unnatural about Siegfried’s obedience, only that his view of what makes one strong has grown a little wider.

Siegfried stays still except for his low breathing, calm as he can be expected to remain, and Josef understands that it’s an expression of permission. His hands travel lower until his palm curls carefully around Siegfried’s stiffening length, making him hiss.

“There’s no shame in this,” Josef intones, voice almost soft—but his self-sure firmness remains, too.

SIegfried’s eyes follow the swirls in the marble, absent. “What makes you think I’m ashamed?” he quips, mildly, as he shifts to allow Josef’s hand between his legs. “It’s not as if I’m unaware of my body.” It’s just that he doesn’t have the time for indulging in such things—if he touches himself, it’s a means to an end, not a luxury. But the unhurried pace Josef takes for stroking him to full hardness isn’t meant to simply find an end to this; it’s _intended _to bring heat through Siegfried’s veins and coax his breaths into soft panting, and in that, it succeeds.

“Perhaps not _ashamed_, no, but _apprehensive _you certainly are.” Josef observes as he twists his wrist to settle his thumb at the head of Siegfried’s shaft; he rubs with the same assured pressure, drawing slow, thoughtful circles as he eases the foreskin down.

Siegfried closes his eyes and inhales deeply, then exhales. “It’s different from what I’m used to,” he explains quietly; Josef merely continues to touch him without hesitation, alternating dexterously between stroking and squeezing and using his palm or using his fingers. His other hand slips lower, extending the same careful touches to Siegfried’s balls, testing the weight of them against his palm. Siegfried forces himself to relax and simply take the tingling, hot sensations in stride; he gives a low, harsh sigh and keeps his eyes shut, but his face stays loose, neutral rather than frowning.

“Let it simply be what it is, Siegfried,” Josef reassures him; Siegfried would snark that he’s already doing as much, but he sort of thinks Josef already knows, so he stays quiet. His hands tense against marble as his dick throbs with heat; Josef doesn’t comment, but he gives a pleased little hum of sorts.

The easy silence returns, comfortable in a way that, ironically, almost makes Siegfried’s skin crawl. The arms encircling him aren’t a threat, and the silence is merely for convenience rather than a sign that he’s missing something. He’s vulnerable and exposed with hands somehow coaxing pleasure out from his scarred and tired nerves—and as much as he feels it, it’s not the same as being cowed under the grasp of something strong. It just _is_—easily, agreeably, it _is_.

Siegfried snaps out of his reverie to the sound of a drawn-out gasp in his own throat; he tenses a bit from the shock of it, but it melts away again at the next exhale. He can feel, now, how his face is a bit warm beyond the temperature of the bathwater, and the sensations sink through his nerves into a low, telltale pressure. When he glances over his shoulder he catches Josef watching him intently, kindly—Siegfried immediately looks away again with a huff.

It’s not that many slow, shaky breaths later before Siegfried finishes, a rough groan signaling as much; Josef merely urges him through it wordlessly with steady motions of his wrist. He finds himself sinking back just a bit, barely leaning his back against Josef’s chest—not putting his full weight there, but not minding the support so much, either.

As Siegfried catches his breath, Josef carefully pours another scoop of water over his head to rinse off the last of the clinging suds and oil and any sweat that might’ve formed under Siegfried’s bangs. His eyes flutter open as water drips down over his face and he meets Josef’s calm gaze once again; for a moment, Siegfried merely blinks, studying it but finding nothing new, somehow. A skill of the king’s, necessary—but it just makes him seem all the more eccentric, beyond reproach or comprehension. And yet, for thinking as much, Siegfried feels oddly like he understands the man.

“You may stay here as long as you like,” Josef says as he runs his fingertips over Siegfried’s scalp slowly. “There’s time left in the night, and you have nothing you need rush off toward, if you do not wish to.” Always suggesting, yet hardly leaving room for rejecting those suggestions—it’s starting to make sense, to Siegfried, how Josef’s spell seems to work on him every time.

So Siegfried merely gives a slight sigh and leans into the touch; normally, he would be the type to hurry away, or he would have been in the past, but maybe that’s starting to break apart, little by little. “Just a minute, then,” he says with just enough bite that Josef should know this isn’t completely by his own choice—and Josef just chuckles, unbothered.

**Author's Note:**

> come harrass me @cdraconic on twitter, which is my chaos account, or @cdra_ for my less chaotic account


End file.
